Orange and Sandalwood
by NAnaNaNone
Summary: He smelled of orange and sandalwood... Hermione/Severus Post DH/not compatible with last chapter


Orange and Sandalwood

He had smelled of orange and sandalwood.

A sweetly acidic scent that still haunted the senses of a bushy haired woman who could not wipe the memory of the dark haired man from her mind. He had never been handsome. No, and he'd certainly never been charming. His words were harsh, rich, and sharp. She missed the way they cut through her.

His very presence demanded attention, though he hid from the world behind a thick, black curtain. Deep, observant, obsidian hues analyzed and calculated through the greasy strands that hung limply in his face. The sneer that twisted thin, pale lips was mocking and had once made her quiver, but recently her heart ached for that loathing expression--for any expression from such a man should not have been scorned but honored!

He'd been a reclusive man with many secrets that he could not confide in a single soul. He took each and every one to his grave. Denied the simple gifts of friendship, love, and trust, he'd lived such a solitary life that he became a pawn tossed between the twisted, malicious hands of dark and knotted, devious hands of light. Alas, it was their inane and verdant game that killed that beautiful, brilliant man.

Hermione Granger cradled a cup of warm butterbeer--unsatisfying as it was, she'd all ready consumed all the fire whiskey. Her mind was fuzzy and her vision no better, but she could focus almost clearly on the violets drooping on the cherry coffee table in the middle of her flat. She was curled into herself--arms close to her chest, knees drawn up, and feet propped on then edge of the table.

A tiny crack sound from her toes as she flexed them absently, recalling the fateful night that tall, dark, shadow of a man fell. The familiar pangs of pain thrummed through her, pulsing louder as she remembered the way his knees had given in and he crumpled. That impossibly stubborn man had seemed invincible…

Her chocolaty eyes stung, but she could not allow herself to close them because he was there. Cunning. Proud. Smirking insolently at her. But, she was alone, save for the company of the asininely mild alcohol. The tiniest twinge of guilt struck her throat as she lifted the warmed drink to her dry lips. The gentle heat soothed her pain for only a moment and she was cold again.

The blue flower seemed to droop more before her commiseration as if her sorrowful heart, with each painfully loud beat, was unbearable. Her vision blurred more as a tiny petal fluttered to the wooden surface where it came to a fragile existence. Her lengthening breath washed over it, lifting it gently, threatening to uproot its life yet again.

Just like _him_. He'd been expected to do as he was told and never say a word about it. His opinion never mattered to anyone. Not once in his whole life. He was the tragic puppet to two sadistic puppeteers.

Despite herself, heavy eye lids sagged and dead brown eyes vanished. Rain tapped on the roof steadily. Tearfully pouring from the sky for the girl who could no longer cry. The world was going on without that man, but now and again, the drifting witch could only barely suppress the ache.

He had no friends to miss him. Just one student who'd never known how important he really was. But, what hurt the most was losing him before finding words she desperately needed to say. She couldn't let him go without knowing what could have been.

Hermione sank into the warm, welcoming arms of sleep. Falling freely until a gentle hand on her elbow stopped her abruptly. She opened her eyes and found herself standing solidly in the dungeons of Hogwarts again.

A pale face, a raised eye brow, and a familiar annoyed expression flooded her vision. She stared up at the potions professor looking as he'd always had. Tall, arms folded, scowling. Despite his trademark twist of the lips, his dark eyes were barely glimmering with mirth. Almost smiling. Yes, the corners of his lips were betraying him. Twitching, though he was putting up quite the fight.

"Insufferable Gryffindors. You always think yourselves above the rules," His velvety voice drawled and his pale hand swept the class room," Sleeping through my lesson."

She froze under his silky, tenor tones, allowing it to engulf her until her knees buckled and she was gasping. The top of a chair found its way into her fingers and she steadied herself. The room seemed to be there and she could almost believe that the last few months of mourning were only a horrible nightmare.

"Have I finally stifled that pride or is the insufferable know-it-all actually shocked into silence? Your dunderheaded friends have all ready gone, why are…"

Dream or not, her heart was still pounding. She couldn't stop her body for lunging at the man, her arms wrapping around him and her face pushing itself into his chest. Long since dried up, her tears seemed to suddenly replenish themselves and spill over her cheeks.

His arms around her reminded her that this, indeed, was only her soggy mind dreaming of the impossible. The real Severus Snape would never touch her so intimately. She didn't care. He felt warm. He felt real. And he smelled…

Thin hands gently pulled her face away from his chest, where she'd been firmly planting her nose.

"You were always there…" her voice surprised her by cracking. Dry from weeks of not speaking. She'd even been avoiding Ron and Harry. Not that they tried terribly hard to find her. They had lost much as well.

"No matter where ever we went, no matter how hard we tried to avoid you, you always found us and helped us even when we didn't know you were," She continued, gaining confidence as he stared attentively at her, not yet pushing her away. She needed this closeness.

"How could you just leave…?"

A smile that she had never seen curved his lips. It was warm and knowing. She couldn't look at his face. She'd never gotten to see that smile and now she couldn't bear to look. Her hands balled into fists in his cloak, but he still held her gently, combing fingers through her hair.

He didn't answer.

Anger bubbled inside of her and she tried to push him away, but dream-Severus, apparently, was strong. He held her only more tightly, not allowing her to leave and force herself awake. This was why she hadn't slept in days.

"What's wrong?" she demanded," You were always full of answers before! We still need you! But you're gone! What are we supposed to do now?"

_What am _I_ supposed to do?_

"You never needed me," he finally said above her, though she still didn't look up. Her forehead fell against his chest and she whimpered.

His hands pressed to her shoulders and he guided her back a little to look into her eyes.

"You still don't. You're a brilliant witch. I always thought so. You didn't need my encouragement, either. You knew it, too. I had to be hard on you because no one else would be. You would have wandered into the world utterly unprepared. I knew my own fate and I didn't want you to share it."

"You knew that…" the words choked off. He _knew _he was going to die? And he still had the nerve to wriggle into her heart? It broke when she saw him die and not much was left.

His eyes watched her expressions intently and his smile had faded. He sighed.

"I didn't want to," He said softly, hand finding her cheek," I had to. For you. For your dimwitted friends."

"We didn't want your help," Hermione said harshly, her voice thick.

He shook his head at her," I know. I was old, Miss Granger. My life was downtrodden and miserable. Had I survived, would you still feel this way?"

Her voice didn't work anymore. She wanted to tell him that, Yes! She would! They both knew the truth.

Hermione closed her eyes, trembling.

"Possibly not…" She whispered, though she hated the words.

The hand on her cheek slid to her chin and lifted it. Warm lips pressed against hers, tasting the way they always did. She found it difficult to breath because she knew…

As her eyes opened she was alone in her flat. The butterbeer had fallen to the floor, but she didn't care how it soaked into the new carpet. She stood abruptly and looked around frantically, arms in front of her, feeling around, as if he'd still be there--an invisible presence. He never was.

Her arms fell to her sides and her head dropped. She sniffled, catching the faintest scent of orange and sandalwood.


End file.
